


Satellites

by roane



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Prompt Fic, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-16
Updated: 2012-06-16
Packaged: 2017-11-07 21:54:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/435863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/roane/pseuds/roane
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Sky’s too bright to really see stars properly in London, but we can still see the things <i>we</i> put up there.” Prompted by consultingdepressive.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Satellites

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: “Sherlock & John, top of a building, hot as fuck outside, looking up at the stars?” And then I apparently ignored that and wrote this instead. ;)

The interior of 221B hadn’t cooled any after sundown, and desperation for a breath of air drove John and Sherlock to the roof of the building. They found a spot where the slope wasn’t likely to send them tumbling onto Baker Street and settled in.  
  
“It’s not any cooler out here,” said Sherlock. “You said it would be cooler.” John had to feel a little sorry for him; Sherlock looked a mess. His hair was a mass of damp curls, fringe falling into his eyes, and he’d already managed to sweat through the t-shirt he’d put on after his third cool shower of the day.  
  
“You’re welcome to go back in any time,” John said. He laid back against the roof. He hadn’t bothered with a shirt after his second cool shower, and the roof was rough against his skin. “View’s better here, though.”  
  
“It must be thirty degrees.”   
  
“Talk to me when it’s forty degrees and you’re running around in your coat and carrying fifty pounds on your back.” John stretched his arms back behind his head. “This is fucking bliss in comparison.”  
  
Sherlock grunted in annoyance, but laid back barely an arms’ length from John and closed his eyes. The faintest breeze tickled the hair on John’s arms, not enough to cool at all, just enough to tease with the notion of coolness. A motion in the sky above caught his attention, “Hey Sherlock, look up there.”  
  
“Still not interested in the solar system, John.”  
  
“You idiot,” John said, a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned towards Sherlock, his head almost touching Sherlock’s shoulder. “Now look, right there.” He pointed up towards a flickering light moving slowly across the sky. “That’s nothing to do with the solar system.”  
  
Sherlock opened his eyes and looked. “Satellite?”  
  
“Mm. There’s nearly a thousand of them up there right now,” John said. “Sky’s too bright to really see stars properly in London, but we can still see the things _we_ put up there.” He reached down and curled his fingers around Sherlock’s. It was still a novelty to touch him this way, to feel Sherlock’s long slender fingers with their distinct calluses close around his hand. It sparked something in John, not quite arousal but not quite  _not_ arousal either.  
  
The sex had been… inevitable. Spinning around each other, caught in each other’s gravity well, their fall into bed had been as unavoidable as orbital decay. Well, ‘bed’ wasn’t precisely true—the first time they hadn’t made it past the living room. Still, sex: like breathing; affection: more like breathing in a vacuum. But Sherlock didn’t pull his hand away, and instead tilted his head to lean against John’s.  
  
John continued, “Out in the desert, it was hard to see them for the stars. You’d have to wait to get a glimpse of movement, or you’d never spot them. There was a lot of stillness out there.” He paused, then gave a low laugh, “Well, when we weren’t being shot at.” He tried to find the right words. “The stillness was... too much. You stopped being able to see what was right in front of you until it moved. When I—when I came back, everything was still. I couldn’t really  _see_ anything.”  
  
“But now you do?” Sherlock had turned his head, so the words vibrated against John’s ear.  
  
“Apparently I just needed a streak of motion to cross my path,” John said. He turned his head and wound up eye to eye with Sherlock. He flicked his eyes over those now-familiar features, then nudged closer, breath nearly indistinguishable from the hot, humid air.


End file.
